


Easy Like Sunday Morning

by allouette



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allouette/pseuds/allouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’re you doin’?”</p><p>Adam jumps out of his skin at the sound of Blake’s voice and spins on his heels, spatula clutched to his chest. “I was just—”</p><p>“D’you know what time it is?” </p><p>“Too fucking early."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Like Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I remembered how to make words happen! Inspired by [this picture](https://41.media.tumblr.com/9b288a984c95a8d61bfe7a2036bce52a/tumblr_na3wlqWvhz1tv9qlno1_500.jpg) seen on tumblr that immediately made me run to Sandra and yell about how that is definitely a morning after Adam.

It’s a little disconcerting to be standing in a strange kitchen at six o’clock on a Sunday morning, the stone tile floor frigid under his bare feet. He wants to be sleeping still, but the loud grumbling of his stomach has proven persistent enough to not be ignored, waking him from a dead sleep only minutes ago. While he _is_ starving – skipping dinner probably wasn’t the smartest idea, and liquor and citrus fruits aren’t a suitable substitute for a real meal, apparently – he would much rather be back in a big, warm bed than standing here, very much out of his element.

With a sigh, Adam pulls open the door to the refrigerator as his stomach once again demands attention, _sustenance damn it_. He immediately grabs the carton of orange juice sitting front and center, contemplates coffee to clear the lingering fog in his head as he stares blankly at the remaning contents of the fridge. 

He just doesn’t know. It’s not like there’s even that much to choose from. It doesn’t help that he doesn’t _cook_ , and he’s still exhausted for fuck’s sake, so he has no idea. There's no milk (seriously? there will be words about this later if he remembers), so something as simple as a bowl of cereal is out. He looks back at the carton in his hand and okay, yes, juice first. Juice is easy. 

One large glass in hand, Adam turns his attention to poking through the cabinets. The bag of Cheetos is so tempting, he almost makes a grab for it, and he could probably devour the entire box of Cocoa Puffs if milk wasn’t an issue. With a sigh, he pulls out a pan and a small bottle of oil before going back to the fridge. 

There’s only one thing he trusts himself to make using the stove and actual heat because it’s kind of hard to fuck up frying some eggs. 

He doesn’t even feel bad about taking the last few because he’s still hung up on the milk thing, and it’s almost a relief when they’re finally in the hot pan beginning to cook. There’s a bowl of bananas on the counter and he grabs one, devouring it in three large bites while he moves the eggs around with a spatula to make sure they aren’t sticking. He’s so focused on what he’s doing, silently willing the eggs to cook faster while at the same time praying they don’t burn, that he doesn’t even notice he isn’t alone anymore.

“What’re you doin’?”

Adam jumps out of his skin at the sound of Blake’s voice and spins on his heels, spatula clutched to his chest. “I was just—” 

He has to pause at the sight of Blake standing there, sleepy eyed and deliciously disheveled, _marked_ , dressed in loose pajama pants with a t-shirt slung over one shoulder. He looks completely fucked out, if Adam is honest with himself, looks the way Adam feels with aching muscles and a satisfying sense of lingering fatigue; it’s enough to make Adam’s stomach clench in an entirely different way.

“D’you know what time it is?” 

“Too fucking early,” Adam answers, turning back for a moment to check the pan, flipping them over to cook for a quick minute on the other side. Almost done, thank god. “But I woke up starving and I can’t cook for shit, but… eggs over easy?”

Blake is smiling as he crosses the room, and Adam has to turn around again before he forgets about his breakfast all together. He glances over just in time to see Blake steal a drink of his juice, grimacing in the way that people only do when they make the awful mistake of drinking orange juice with minty fresh breath. It’s what he gets, Adam thinks, but then he’s pressing close, one hand warm, the other cool from the glass when they make contact with Adam’s bare skin, and he barely remembers to turn off the stove before Blake begins to derail his mission entirely. 

“Eggs are good,” Blake says, and it sounds so close to a rumble, low and thick, his mouth pressed just behind Adam’s ear. He’s talking about _eggs_ of all things, but he might as well be talking about sex with how makes Adam’s dick twitch.

“Blake.”

It’s meant to be the beginning of a protest – Blake’s fingers are trailing along the waistband of Adam’s boxer briefs, his mouth making its way along Adam’s jaw – and he’ll be damned if his eyes aren’t falling closed, leaning into the warmth of Blake’s body, his touch.

Adam wasn’t sure what to expect for their morning after, didn’t know if it would be awkward or if they’d carry on like nothing had happened last night. He doesn’t even want to consider the drunken mistake option. Apparently none of that comes close to what Blake is thinking, eager fingers slipping under elastic just as Adam’s stomach lets out a long, loud growl. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, and Blake is laughing against him, breath warm against his hair. “Get off of me, I need food and sex is _not_ happening in your kitchen.”

Blake leans across Adam’s back to pull open a drawer, grabbing a couple of forks. “You tryin’ to tell me you’ve never had sex in a kitchen before?”

“Are we really going to talk about this?” Adam asks as they start eating right out of the pan. Why not.

Blake chooses not to answer, and they finish off the entire pan of eggs in record time. He’s not full by any means, but it’s enough for now, enough to keep Adam’s stomach quiet anyway, and he sets the pan in the sink to be washed later. He catches Blake drinking from his glass of orange juice again, and it’s almost cute how he looks sheepish, handing the almost empty glass over with a small smile. Adam finishes it off with one big gulp, then sets it in the sink as well. There’s dish soap sitting behind the faucet and he drizzles some over the pan, turning on the hot water; is he stalling? It feels a little bit like he’s stalling for time by doing this because there’s really no need, but then he hears, “Adam,” and Blake’s voice is soft and warm, and Adam has no idea what he’s doing anymore.

When he turns back around, Blake is looking at him a little like he did the night before only not quite as intense, his feelings written all over his face and his expression so very fond.

“Feel better?” Blake asks just as Adam reaches out, draping Blake’s shirt around the back of his neck and using it to tug him closer. His answer comes in the form of a kiss, soft and lingering, until Blake gets his hands on him and it grows into something more. 

“Mm, take me back to bed?” Adam murmurs softly before he’s pressing their mouths together again, and he feels just as much as hears Blake’s groan. It’s enough to make him smile into the kiss, pressing closer as Blake’s arms tighten around him, and he can’t help it, can’t stop it, laughter bubbling up in his chest because Blake has him backed up against the counter before either of them even really realize they’re moving. “Bed, Blake,” he says with a grin against Blake’s lips. “Still not having sex with you in the kitchen.”

Blake lets out a soft, amused curse and steps away, putting some distance between them as he motions for Adam to lead the way out of the room. “After you.”

As soon as Adam is back in the bed and under the covers, he could easily be asleep again within a matter of minutes, but he’s also hyper aware of Blake sliding into the bed next to him a moment later, pressing right up against him. The palm of Blake’s hand is big, hot where it rests on Adam’s back, leaving a trail of heat in its wake as it makes a smooth slide down to the waistband of his underwear, Blake’s voice a thick murmur against his ear.

“Are you goin' back to sleep now or...?”

Adam grins faintly against his pillow before he shifts onto his side, bringing them face to face. “Or?” he asks and leans in until they bump noses.

Blake closes that last little bit of distance instantly, pressing his lips to Adam’s. It’s just so easy to melt into this kiss and the one that follows and the one after that; it’s easier still to tangle his fingers in Blake’s crazy hair, draping one of his legs over Blake’s hip as blunt fingers dig into the small of his back.

It’s so easy. 

Like orange juice and eggs on Sunday morning.


End file.
